


Drowning (and a kiss that breathes life)

by spideyandstark



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/F, Fluff, HAROLD THEY'RE LESBIANS, Hurt/Comfort, THE WITCHFINDERS WAS SO GOOD WTF, dw chapter 2 will be comfort !!, i know it's technically called a cabin bed shut up @mya, i wrote this while watching I'm a celeb, prepare for angst, the doctor has a bunk bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-08-29 11:43:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16743325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideyandstark/pseuds/spideyandstark
Summary: In which the Doctor has not spent a week with Houdini.





	1. Chapter 1

_“Doctor!”_ Yaz screams. Tears are blurring her vision. Her hands are balled up in fists by her sides and she’s pushing dangerously against whoever’s arms are curled around her stomach - probably Ryan’s - in an attempt to reach the water.

Ryan and Graham are shouting, too; Ryan’s voice would be deafening by her ear if she didn’t already feel as if her head were submerged. The King stares on mercilessly, eyes as unwavering as the lake’s surface. 

“Bring her up!” Yaz yells, voice hoarse. “Please! She’s not - she’s not a witch!”

James says nothing.

“Let go of me Ryan, she’s going to die!”

Yaz thrusts Ryan’s arms away from her, and he staggers back and puts both hands on his head and breathes heavily. 

“Her sonic, where’s her sonic, Graham -”

“In her coat on the other side of the lake I reckon,” says Graham shakily. “Here, Yaz, you go ahead, me and Ryan’ll toss it to ya in the water.”

“Okay,” Yaz says. It’s been more than a minute now.

She tosses her jacket on the riverbank and dives in, breaking the startlingly cold surface. The water floods her ears, weighs her jeans down heavy, and as she pulses through the ripples the silence seems to seize her; Yaz keeps going, desperate for one of the Doctor’s outlandish ramblings to replace the frigid shock of freshwater. 

She reaches the dead trunk, emerges for air and scans the surface for Ryan and Graham. Ryan waves to her from above with a loud: “Oi, Yaz!”

Yaz raises one hand above the water while the other treads. Ryan throws her the sonic screwdriver and Graham gives her a thumbs up. 

“God, I hope this thing works underwater,” Yaz gasps. 

It’s been two minutes. Imaginary clockwork echoes threateningly in the caverns of her mind as she ducks back under the water, kicking down to the riverbed. The water’s murky and dim and she can’t see two feet in front of her and her eyes are sore with grit and everything’s blurry with the way the silty liquid distorts things. 

An involuntary shiver creeps its way down Yaz’s spine. 

Then in front of her, barely visible, is a chain - Yaz reaches for it with numb fingers, kicking herself forward, chest tight with apprehension and lack of oxygen. 

White sleeves and a muddied rainbow slogan. Yaz exhales through her nose and the bubbles race to the surface. She clamps a hand over her face to save her breath and swims closer to the Doctor. 

The Doctor’s head drifts backwards lightly as Yaz approaches, facing the surface, lips parted and pale with cold. Cold terror grips Yaz’s heart. She lashes forward, releasing the last of her breath and desperately fumbling with the sonic in her shaking right hand. 

She pushes the button repeatedly then wraps her hands under the Doctor’s arms and pulls upwards just as familiar golden energy starts moving through her veins. 

Yes - she remembers - regeneration, death and rebirth and pain - Yaz bites down on her lower lip to stop herself gulping in water and her head is screaming _no way no way you’re not dying on me before I’ve kissed you._

Her head breaks the surface of the lake and she gasps a shuddering breath. Ryan is in the water in an instant, pulling the Doctor’s limp form away from Yaz and lifting her to the bank with Graham. Yaz coughs and heaves herself out of the water next to them. 

Everything’s still blurry and Yaz realises there are tears in her eyes. She throws herself into the mud next to the Doctor and shakes her. 

“Doctor, _please,_ come on, wake up, now-“

Her voice cracks. She feels Ryan’s hand on her shoulder. Graham is kneeling on the Doctor’s other side, two fingers pressed against her neck. His features slowly sink into a frown. 

Yaz wracks her frenzied mind. She knows CPR - first aid is mandatory in a police officer’s arsenal - but she realises with an unruly jolt that she’s going to have to _use it._ She briefly wonders if it’s different because the Doctor has two hearts. She then realises she’s probably stalling, and breathes deeply before thrusting her hands to the centre of the Doctor’s chest. 

_One, two, three, four, five…_

Graham has stopped fumbling and is staring at her with cold shock, something in his expression that makes Yaz think of the light fading from Grace’s eyes. She shakes her head to herself, pumping continually, tears tracking dirtied pathways down her cheeks. 

“Come on, Doctor,” she whispers. 

She reaches thirty and freezes dramatically for a moment, acutely aware of Ryan and Graham’s worried gazes - then she throws herself forward and exhales a breath into the Doctor’s mouth and then she lingers there, warm lips moving against pale cold ones, droplets tracing the Doctor’s pale cheeks. 

And then she gasps, and Yaz leaps back in shock as the Doctor sits up, coughing up a lungful of water. Graham is rubbing circles on her back, his relief tangible in the freezing air. 

The Doctor looks back up and finds Yaz’s eyes. 

“Cold,” she breathes quickly, “Do it - again.”

Yaz nods and pulls her in close again, transferring her own warmth into the Doctor’s shivering frame, her hands moving rapidly up the Doctor’s arms to try and instil some heat back into her. Yaz isn’t really aware of anything else, but she swears - if only for a fleeting moment - she sees Ryan slip a reluctant Graham a tenner. 

The Doctor breaks the kiss first, still gasping for air. She smiles weakly and then bursts into another coughing fit. 

“Sorry,” she says. “Thought I - could - get out of those.” 

“You gave us quite the fright, Doc,” says Graham. 

The Doctor shrugs sheepishly. “Sorry, fam. Thanks for saving me Yaz.”

Yaz nods quietly, biting back a sob. 

“Right - uh -“ The Doctor rubs absently at the fading golden glow under her skin. “Where - were we?”

“Witches,” says Ryan. 

“Right,” the Doctor says absently. “Witches.”

She tries to stand up and falls dizzily back to her knees. Yaz grabs her shoulder, the tears spilling down her face now. 

“Don’t,” she breathes. “Just - wait a minute.” 

The Doctor, surprisingly, doesn’t argue. She sees the fresh droplets on Yaz’s face and pulls her head to her chest, gaze far-off towards the opposite bank. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers against Yaz’s hair, planting a gentle kiss there. “Everything’s - alright, now.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yaz takes care of the Doctor after her ordeal in the lake.

“That was eventful,” the Doctor says brightly, stepping through the doors of the TARDIS. Her hair is still damp and the electrical buzz of the air turns it static. 

Yaz walks in uncharacteristically subdued, her own clothes soaked too. She’s bundled up in the Doctor’s grey coat, which had been thrust upon her shoulders the second the Doctor’s head had stopped spinning enough to stand up again. 

“Bit of an understatement,” says Ryan, shuddering. “God, did you see the way he looked at me?”

“Oh yeah, Jamie-boy took quite the shine to you, son.” Graham squeezes Ryan’s shoulder playfully. 

“Unsurprising,” says Ryan, with a coy smile. “I am very handsome.”

Yaz looks up and finds the Doctor gazing at her as she absently strokes the console. She jolts as if startled by Yaz’s gaze, and starts pulling levers and spinning hour-glasses and pushing custard cream pedals. Her fingers flinch momentarily to her side, and sink away as soon as they touch the moisture-laden material of her shirt. The TARDIS whirs as it takes off.

“Right then,” the Doctor says, turning on her heel. She wobbles and catches a stray lever, accidentally forcing it downwards as she regains herself. The TARDIS gives an unruly jolt, sending time lord and companions alike sprawling; Ryan manages to grab Graham’s arm.

The Doctor falls back and Yaz somehow catches her, arms clasping tightly around her waist. The Doctor stays still for a moment, frowning down at legs which feel like they’ve been replaced with jelly; then she bites down on her lip and regains her footing, shoving the lever back up to its rightful position.

“Sorry,” she breathes, as the ship stabilises. “Lost my balance for a sec. Anyway, Yaz, did you-”

“Please slow down,” Yaz says quietly. The Doctor flinches and looks at her. 

“I -”

“Just wait,” she murmurs, stepping closer to the console and entwining their fingers. “Just hear me out for a moment.”

Feeling like he’s intruding on something personal, Graham slowly backs away and slips out into one of the TARDIS’ elongated corridors. Ryan claps his hands together awkwardly.

“Well, I’m gonna get a snack,” he says. He briefly flashes Yaz one of those _if-you-know-what-I-mean_ smirks, and her cheeks darken with an unruly blush. She waves her hand dismissively to him and Ryan scurries after Graham.

“Oh, right, okay,” the Doctor says, pretending not to care. She fiddles nervously with her earring. Yaz gently takes her hand and guides it back to the space between them.

“I know you’re hurt,” says Yaz, gazing at her. “I know you’re trying hard to hide it but I’m a cop, Doctor, and every person I’ve ever seen who’s had CPR has had their ribs broken, so let me check.”

“They're not broken,” the Doctor objects quickly. “Promise you, Yaz.” 

Suddenly the cold hands pull away from Yaz’s warm ones and then there’s a rough device in their place. The sonic screwdriver glows soft orange. The Doctor outstretches her arms.

“Just point it at me and press the button,” she says.

Yaz complies. The Doctor’s arms fall back to her sides and she peers over Yaz’s shoulder to read the results. 

“There, see!” She points excitedly. “Just badly bruised!”

Yaz arches a brow and hands the sonic back. “That’s still not good. You need _rest.”_

“Oh, it’ll be fine. Seems worse than it is. Probably only need -” Suddenly the Doctor sneezes, doubling over with her hands pressed to her mouth; the sharp movement causes her to gasp in pain, her legs buckling for the second time. Yaz grips her shoulders and sinks down to the floor with her, a terrified cry of ‘Doctor!’ escaping her lips. 

“That was weird,” the Doctor grimaces, fingers tightening around Yaz’s forearm. “Sorry.”

“It’s not weird. You’re catching a cold.” Yaz presses a hand to the Doctor’s forehead. “It was freezing in that lake.” 

The Doctor closes her eyes and sinks into the cool touch. “You went in the lake too.”

“Yes, and I’m bloody freezing,” Yaz grins, pulling absently at the collar of her damp shirt. “So let’s go get changed and get you to bed, alright? Doctor?”

“Don’t like beds,” the Doctor mumbles against Yaz’s hand. “Boring. Better things to do.” 

“If it’s boring, I’ll stay with you, okay?” 

“Deal.” 

Yaz feels the grin against her palm. She rolls her eyes and pulls away, guiding the Doctor to her feet. 

They head slowly down one of the corridors, the Doctor coughing and clutching her ribs. She indicates to a door on the left and Yaz pushes it open to find a small room with a wide, open ceiling - of course not really open, just the illusion of it being so - with nebulas swirling against a navy canvas, stars burning in brilliant iridescence, and planets, hundreds of planets and solar systems and constellations flickering in and out of view, galaxies that the Doctor has touched. The room itself is a bit - _eccentric_ though Yaz has come to expect that from the Doctor; she spots an open wardrobe with oversized suits (at least oversized for _her_ Doctor, who, doubled over and frowning at her sonic screwdriver, would probably drown in one of those outfits now); a chest with a wilting yellow flower on top (Yaz remembers her wearing it at Umbreen’s ceremony); a single bunk bed with a ladder leading up to it and three shelves of books under it (and a beanbag, recently used); a mug and kettle on the carpeted floor; a scattered stack of photographs on a desk that look as though they’ve been knocked apart in a frenzy.

“Sorry it’s a little messy,” the Doctor says, nose wrinkling at the results on her sonic. “Swear I left it tidier.”

Yaz bites back a laugh. “I like it. But you have a _bunk bed?”_

“Course I do,” the Doctor frowns, confused. “They’re cool.”

 _Course she does,_ Yaz thinks. Because she’s the Doctor with her messy ideas and wild eyes and sentient blue box. 

“Love bunk beds,” she continues, breaking away from Yaz to look through her wardrobe. “Did you know the Egyptians were the first to start making beds?” She’s standing on tiptoes reaching for a hanger, one hand curled instinctively around her side.

“What, really?” Yaz says. “You’ll hurt yourself reaching for that, you know.”

“You need clean clothes,” the Doctor says, dropping back to her heels with an enthusiastic: “Aha!”

“This alright?” she asks, thrusting a men’s shirt at her. “Don’t have much in the women’s department - well, not in here, anyway. Should I get you something different? Oooh, pyjamas? Humans love pyjamas, don’t they? I can go get some.”

“No- Doctor, this is fine, get in bed.”

The Doctor stops fiddling with the hanger and pouts. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Yaz says, pulling off the Doctor’s dry jacket and tossing it back to her. 

The Doctor makes to object, but another sneeze stops her; she bends over and clutches the small desk and one of the photographs flutters to the floor.

“Oh,” she murmurs. Yaz leaps down to grab it before the Doctor can hurt her ribs further.

Her fingers trace the picture briefly; a woman with a shock of curly blonde hair next to a tall _white-haired Scotsman._ He’s pretending to scowl at his picture being taken, but his eyes are bright and the woman has her lips to his ear, a grin curving her attractive features. Yaz’s breath hitches and she fumblingly hands the picture back. The Doctor fiddles with her earring and sets it back on the table beneath a lava lamp.

“Where were we?” she says with faux enthusiasm, changing the subject. “Bed, yes, I’ll go to bed, come on Yaz.”

The Doctor pulls on a dry t-shirt and climbs the rungs of the ladder, settling cross-legged on top of her duvet. She pats the space beside her and leans against a well-designed cushioned panel in the wall.

Yaz looks once more at the pictures on the desk as she changes her shirt and slips out of her soggy jeans. Then she pulls herself up onto the bed beside the Doctor and tilts her head back to look up at the stars. Something soft tickles her neck, and in her peripheral the Doctor’s head sinks down slowly to rest on Yaz’s shoulder. 

Yaz stares into space - _literally_ \- and remembers the Doctor’s lips pressed against hers, the way her hand fits in her own, the snapshots of the Doctor’s life sprawled across the desk, people painting pictures of the woman that she’s become. Yaz’s lungs are burning, for oxygen and for answers. 

“Doctor?” she says quietly. The TARDIS has dimmed the lights in the room, maybe so they can focus on space, _maybe_ for another reason entirely. Yaz feels the shift of the Doctor’s head and a sleepy: “Mm?” against her shoulder. 

“Sorry, didn’t realise you were asleep,” she adds, pulling one of the blankets across the Doctor. 

“‘M not asleep,” the Doctor mumbles. “Not tired.”

“Oh really?” Yaz grins, as the Doctor nestles herself beneath the covers and snuggles up closer to her. 

“Yep. _Wide_ awake. Ask me a question, go on Yaz.”

Yaz finds herself reaching for the Doctor’s fingers. Her voice lowers itself. “Why did you - I mean, I know I did it first - but you - you kissed me back.”

The Doctor yawns. “Isn’t that what you’re s’posed to do when someone kisses you?”

“Well yeah,” Yaz says awkwardly. “But it was - I don’t know - just -“

“I’m messing with ya, Yaz,” the Doctor grins, pushing herself up from Yaz’s shoulder so she can meet her eyes. “I like you, I think. Been trying to suppress it since you came aboard. But then you kissed me and I was selfish and I thought I could blame it on water in my brain or something. So I’m sorry.” 

Yaz feels her heart leap so hard she’s scared of it failing; because in every scenario, every night of gazing up at the soft glow of the TARDIS, listening to the walls hum and the Doctor hum with them, of dreaming about taking the Doctor’s face in her hands and pressing a celebratory kiss to her mouth after thwarting some new alien threat - for all of that imagining, she hadn’t actually considered the possibility of reciprocation. Her brain short-circuits. 

So she decides to follow the plan she _has_ practiced. 

Yaz closes the small gap between them and kisses the Doctor soundly. 

“Oh Yaz!” the Doctor gasps, gently pushing her back. “You’ll catch my cold!” 

“I don’t care, I’ve wanted this as long as you have,” Yaz murmurs, locking their lips back together. The Doctor, after a brief malfunction, wraps her hands around Yaz’s waist and brings her closer. The TARDIS rumbles something smug. 

The next morning, Ryan and Graham stumble upon a little room tucked away beyond the console. Later, Yaz inexplicably wakes to a ping on her phone and a picture of two women snuggling in bed, a touch of Yaz’s dark lipstick highlighted on the Doctor’s cheek.

Next time Ryan passes, he finds that the door to the Doctor’s bedroom has enigmatically grown a lock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took longer than expected bc i didn't like what i wrote so i deleted it and started again and this is only slightly better but you know what it's fine i'll write a better one next time

**Author's Note:**

> what up folks the witchfinders was my fave ep of this season so far, thirteen with wet hair? my sexuality


End file.
